That told me to leave dry land.
"Up, up, up,
In the morn before daylight,
The bathman cries, "Get up,"
(I wish he were up for a fight).
While underneath the eaves,
The dry, snug swallows cling,
But give them a cold wet sheet to their backs,
And see if they'll come next spring.
"Oh! oh! it stops my breath,